The Night of the Deadly Showboat
by Andamogirl
Summary: James West's and Artemus Gordon's new adventures in Louisiana, on a showboat sailing on the Mississippi River. They will meet an old enemy searching for Confederate Gold.
1. Teaser

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY SHOWBOAT**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's notes: Season 2.

Episode-tag. This story takes place right after the end of "The night of the Watery death". Reference to The night of the Glowing Corpse."

I loved the ventriloquist Artemus in TNOT Sedgewick Curse, especially the end of the episode. It's so very funny. I always wanted to write a story showing Artemus use that talent in front of an audience, and thus, I imagined the following story.

Many thanks to my beta reader Tripidydoodah.

 _Artemus_ _:_ _(talking about the artificial lung)_ _Think of that. Five minutes, underwater, submerged, and you'd still survive. That is, if somebody was trying to drown you.  
_ _Jim_ _: What if it doesn't work?  
_ _Artemus_ _: Bring it back. I'll make you a new one._

 _TNOT Glowing Corpse_

 _Artemus: What did he say to you after that, Chester?  
_ _Chester_ _ **:**_ _He said, "I'm going to buy two tickets to Denver."  
_ _Artemus:_ _Uh-huh. So naturally you said...  
_ _Chester_ _ **:**_ _I said, "If she was my wife, I'd buy one ticket to Denver and made sure I missed the train."_

 _TNOT Sedgewick Curse_

 _Jim: Whenever there's a broken neck, there's always-there's always music.  
_ _Artie_ _: You know, I once played the organ on a showboat. You know what made me give it up?  
_ _Jim_ _: No, what?  
_ _Artie_ _: People kept offering to break my neck._

 _TNOT Colonel's Ghost_

Warning: drowning and temporary major character death.

WWW

 **TEASER**

 _The Wanderer, late at night_

It was the middle of the night when secret agent James West came back to the Wanderer, smiling, immensely pleased. He had taken his date, miss Aurora Farnsworth, the famous actress – to the best restaurant of San Francisco, then they had gone for a walk in the animated streets of the city and after that they both had flirted in a romantic French café at the port.

Finally he had accompanied her to her hotel and they had kissed goodbye, promising to see each other the next evening and after that they had parted ways – reluctantly.

Jim closed the door of the weakly-lit parlor car behind him and headed toward his sleeping compartment. He noticed a ray of light under his partner's door and smiled. Artemus Gordon was back from his scientific conference, he thought.

He knocked at the door, waited, but there was no invitation to come in. "Artie? May I come in? Artemus? You okay buddy?"

Knowing that the other man had a big bad cold, a bit worried, Jim opened the door as quietly as possible before peeking in. He discovered the other man sprawled on his bunk in an elevated position, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his head and shoulders propped up on several pillows. Artemus was sleeping soundly, snoring, and regularly wheezing with a stuffy nose. He was surrounded by pieces of paper, sketchbooks, open books and used handkerchiefs.

Marmalade was rolled in a ball on top of the small table and greeted him with a soft meow and a slowly waving tail.

Jim noticed that the older man was still wearing his short black underwear and had his upper body, from his shoulders to his waist, wrapped in the same red with blue and white stripes blanket he had on his shoulders earlier, and concluded that Artie had preferred staying there – instead of addressing himself to a society of scientists about the warfare of the future. Maybe because Artie was very sick and unable to move, he reflected. Because his partner was determined to go there at all costs when he had left him a few hours before, he continued to muse.

Frowning in concern Jim moved toward Artemus and touched his forehead. He couldn't feel heat emanating from his skin. Artie wasn't running a fever, but he was still sick judging by the number of handkerchiefs surrounding him.

Marmalade stood up and jumped to the floor then leaped on the bed, and meowed again, louder. Jim scratched the cat behind its ears.

Leaning down he randomly picked up the pages scattered on the floor and rapidly glanced at them: they were covered with Artie's neat and elegant writing. He recognized chemical formulas which were annotated, and long paragraphs, comments about the above chemical formulas. Then he picked up the sketchbooks. Pages and pages were covered with diagrams, chemical formulas again, annotations again, comments again and drawings of… a series of mini-bombs.

He smiled. "You've been very busy buddy," he whispered placing all the stuff on the bedside table. Then he finally picked up the books – chemistry books, and put them on the table too. "You probably had a brilliant idea for new mini-bombs and you forgot that conference completely." He took a blanket from the wardrobe and covered his best friend's legs with. "Goodnight Artie, sleep well."

He dimmed the light and then left the compartment.

WWW

 _The next morning_

Reading the local newspaper, Jim was pouring himself a second cup of coffee when Artie entered the parlor car, his dark hair sticking out in every which way. His eyes were red, watery and puffy, and his cheeks stubbled; he was barefoot and wrapped loosely in his robe.

Marmalade was following him, meowing hungrily, pushing against her owner's legs. She suddenly spotted a saucer of milk settled at the bottom edge of a sofa and darted there. She was attacking it a split second later making little feeding sounds.

Jim smiled. "That poor Marmie was hungry, fortunately I thought about her."

The older man slumped on a chair, yawned and reached out for the pot of fresh coffee. "Morning, thanks," he said, rubbing his fist into his right eye.

Lifting his cup of coffee Jim asked, "Morning, Artie. How was your soirée?"

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Artie said, "I was busy. I didn't go to that conference. I spent a good part of my soirée and a good part of the night creating a new explosive – that detonates when in contact with water." He smiled, proud of himself. "And let me tell you that it is brilliant!"

Smiling too Jim nodded. "You're inventions are always brilliant, Artie," he said.

Smiling with pleasure this time the older agent, bowed his head. "Thank you." He took a sip of the hot beverage and grimaced. "James-my-boy, your coffee is a true abomination and it could bring back dead people to life. But I'm not complaining, because I need something strong to help me stay awake." He yawned, took another sip and continued, "I had that idea after you left last night. I dropped one of my pink pills – the ones I created to heal headaches - in my tub and there was a small explosion followed by a cloud of white smoke." He chuckled, amused. "You can imagine how surprised I was." Seeing Jim frown in alarm he added, "Oh I'm fine, Jim, don't worry." He glanced at one bare foot and wiggled his toes. "My feet are intact." He suddenly sneezed twice into the crook of his arm and fished a handkerchief from the right pocket of his robe. He blew his nose wetly and then added, "I'm fine, or almost, but it's just a common cold, it's nothing. It should disappear in a couple of days. Fortunately it's not influenza."

Folding the newspaper Jim nodded. "But you're still sick, Artie."

Nodding Artemus slid the handkerchief back in the pocket. "Like I said, it's just a common cold. No need to worry. It's fortunate I didn't swallow any of those pink pills, or l would be dead by now…" He ran his right fingertips across his throat. "Beheaded!" He put a half-carbonized pancake on his plate and sighed heavily, looking sorry. "I won't complain about your uneatable food either, I'm too hungry for that. "Fortunately my jam is excellent!" Then he spread a generous layer of strawberry jam on it. "I don't know what happened with those pink pills…" He paused sneezing into his handkerchief twice and then he coughed a few times. He touched his forehead. "No fever. This cold should pass in a matter of hours. Boy! That water was cold! It was freezing!"

Smiling Jim nodded. "Maybe you were preparing smoke bombs at the same time you were making your pink pills buddy, and there was a mix-up," he proposed.

Frowning and shaking his head Artemus said, "No, that's impossible, I'm very careful with what I do when I create something. Dealing with chemical components is very dangerous." He rubbed his chin pensively. "No, maybe one of the ingredients became unstable for an unknown reason. Things like that happen in chemistry sometimes… so it's possible. Anyways, I'm going to make mini-bombs that will explode when in contact with water. It's going to be easy. I tested my formula last night and it works." He grinned. "They could be handy in our missions, what do you think?"

Pouring himself a third cup of coffee Jim said, "All your marvelous inventions are handy – and vital, Artie. We'd both be long dead and buried without them."

Marmalade jumped on Artemus's lap. The older man put a hand on the cat, petting the fur softly and the feline purred.

"Meowww".

Complying, Artie scratched the spot right under his cat's chin and Marmie re-started purring, louder. "Spoiled cat," he said, smiling.

Suddenly the telegraph key came alive and Jim stood. He then took a pen and a piece of paper and headed toward the telegraph key box. "A new assignment's on its way."

Cutting a new piece of barely edible pancake Artemus nodded. "No need to write it down, Jim." Then he translated the Morse code directly: "Two – showboats – sunk – on – the – Mississippi – River – in – the - last week - 62 victims - no survivors. – People – were – found – with – gunshot - wounds. – Local – police – suspects – acts – of – piracy – Proceed – immediately – to – Baton Rouge – to – investigate - Signed Colonel J. Richmond." He lifted one eyebrow, surprised. "Piracy on the Mississippi River?"

Jim acknowledged the reception and put the blank paper and the pen on the desk. "That's awful. 62 people were killed, Artie."

The older man nodded. "We'll find who's responsible, Jim." He swallowed his piece of strawberry-jam-ed pancake and added, "I spent two years on showboats before the war, you know. I was playing organ and piano, was an actor in comedies, I did some tap dancing too… I was a multi-talented man. That was fun – but not highly paid enough. But it was fun."

Smiling Jim said, "You're still a multi-talented man – and you will show those talents of yours again on a showboat. We're going to proceed as usual. You go first, play your role, mingle with people and then, later I'll join you. We will work together, but separately.

Artemus took a swallow of coffee and regretted it immediately. "I have an idea of what I'm going to do. I always wanted to do it on a stage. "

Feeling another sneezing fit coming on, he quickly brought a new handkerchief to his face just in time to catch a series of sneezes. "What's our ETA?"

"Three days," Jim responded.

The older man nodded. "My cold should be ancient history by then. I'm going to spend those three days in my lab perfecting my new explosive device."

Tbc.


	2. Act One

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY SHOWBOAT**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

 _Three days later, Baton Rouge,_

 _Show Boat River Queen,_

Captain Simpson welcomed Jim West in person on the bridge. They shook hands. "Welcome to the _River Queen_ , Mr. West. The head of the police informed me of your mission. I hope that you will put an end to these tragedies and find those who did it!"

Jim nodded. "What do you know about the sunken ships? Did they transport a lot of money? That could explain piracy."

Howard Simpson shook his head. "No, they were just old battered showboats, Mr. West, transporting food, supplies and touring troops – and people, passengers and crew members. All dead, now, killed or drowned in the murky swirls of the Mississippi River. They served as transporters for the Confederate troops during the war before becoming floating theaters again. As for the money – there's never much on board. The people coming here aren't rich; they're just ordinary people who want to have some entertainment, that's all. The ticket to come on board costs 50 cents. If they killed all those people for the money, they left with no more than 30 dollars, at most." He sighed, shaking his head, dismayed. "I had some good friends on board the _White Queen_ and the _Red Queen_., you know, and now they're all dead."

Jim nodded. "I'm sorry Captain. They were attacked and sunk at two different places; do you know something particular about those places?"

Simpson shook his head. "There's nothing special there Mr. West, the water is deep, murky, the banks are covered with thick vegetation and further, there are swamps and endless bayous. But I suppose pirates can hide in those. No one ever goes there, it's far too dangerous because of the poisonous snakes and alligators and because of the treacherous quick sands too – and it's only accessible by boat. Those places are on our way to New Orleans…"

Looking at the Mississippi River through the glass panels on the bridge, Jim asked, "When are you scheduled to leave for New Orleans?"

Simpson glanced at his pocket watch. "In two hours, Mr. West. All the personnel are already on board, plus the touring troop and a few extras, like a fire-breather, a fortune-teller and a ventriloquist. The passengers will arrive later. I hope there will be at least a few. In winter people prefer to stay home." He frowned in concern. "Do you think that the pirates will attack us?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, but don't worry. I asked for policemen – in civilian clothes – to mingle with the passengers. They will be armed."

Simpson sighed with relief. "That's good news. I feel reassured."

Moving toward the door leading to the upper deck, Jim said, "I'm going to explore your ship Captain, if you don't mind."

The Captain smiled proudly. "Be my guest, Mr. West. The _River Queen_ is the most beautiful Showboat of the entire Mississippi."

WWW

Effectively, the showboat was beautiful, Jim mused as he explored it. It was a white-painted barge that resembled a long, two storey, flat-roofed house. It didn't have any steam engine, because it possessed a large theater, since the engine would have had to be placed right in the auditorium. So, the ship was pulled along the Mississippi River by a towboat, attached to it.

He wandered on the decks, visited the passengers' cabins, then he headed toward the auditorium which had fifteen rows of comfortable seats, under a huge crystal chandelier. There was a bar lounge on the left of the stage and a buffet dining room on the right.

Jim jumped on the stage and explored what was behind the closed red and gold curtain. He found a man there, blond and bearded sitting on a chair, under a lamp. His nose was swollen, red and runny. He was holding a puppet made of wood, resembling a dark-haired mustachioed man.

He smiled. "Hiya, Artie, hello Chester."

Chester – the puppet said, "Hiya, Mr. West. Visiting the showboat?"

Looking at Artie whose lips didn't move, at all, Jim nodded. "Yes, and what do you do? Repartée with your master, the great Harry McArty?"

Chester looked up at Artemus and responded, "I'm trying to teach him a series of fun stories but he forgot them shortly after. I'm afraid that the spectacle is seriously compromised. But I don't blame my master. He has a big cold and a good part of his old noggin' is full of tapioca, as he likes to say."

Frowning in concern Jim noticed beads of perspiration (due to a fever) on his partner's flushed face. Artie shivered from time to time too. "You're right, your master is sick, Chester. The big cold which was supposed to disappear in a couple of days is still here and it's getting worse, it would seem."

Chester nodded. "That cold is resistant. But my master is strong, and that bad cold won't prevent him from doing what he has to do, don't worry."

Seeing other people coming, Jim said, "I'm looking forward to watching you on the stage, Mr. McArty. See you later then."

He headed back toward the stage.

Chester touched his master's forehead and said, "You're burning up pal."

Touching his warm forehead Artie nodded, "I know… plus I have a mother of all headaches…Let's hope that I'm not going to be sick…"

WWW

 _Much later_

 _River Queen, now navigating on the Mississippi River_

 _Halfway between Baton Rouge and New Orleans_

 _In the auditorium_

Harry McArty was sitting on a chair on the stage, holding Chester the puppet on his knees, when Jim took his place in an empty seat.

He looked at the old woman sat on his left and asked, "Is he good?"

She nodded, grinning. "Good? He's formidable! I had never seen a ventriloquist on a stage before. It's fantastic, and all his jokes are very funny." She frowned. "Where have you been? You missed the whole show!" He elbowed Jim. "That McArty's a handsome man. If I wasn't that old, I could, no I will keep him company tonight in his cabin..."

Jim chuckled.

On the stage Artemus stood and said, his voice hoarse, "Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen, that's all for tonight."

And Chester added, "Maybe for you, as for myself I have a date tonight."

Lifting his eyebrows in surprise Artie said, "A date? But you are a puppet. You are not alive and you can't go anywhere by yourself. How can you have a date?"

Suddenly a lovely cleavage-baring brunette in a red dress climbed on the stage and took Chester in her arms, kissing his wooden head. "Oooh, Chester…"

Chester looked at his 'date' then at the man holding him and said, "You're fired!"

Everyone in the auditorium burst out laughing and then all the people gathered there applauded loudly as Artie bowed, grinning.

Still smiling, Artemus took his marionette back and headed toward the end of the stage – barely standing on his legs, all his muscles painful. Once in his dressing-room he dropped Chester on his trunk and coughed. He coughed so hard that he doubled over and sank on his knees.

Entering the room in his turn Jim was at his side in a second. "Artie, you can't stay like this. You need to see a doctor…"

His nose congested Artie said, "I think so, yes."

Suddenly a familiar voice said, "Need a doctor? I'm a doctor, and I can help you." Dr. Loveless took a step forward, framed by two bulky henchmen each holding a gun. "Don't do anything unconsidered, Mr. West. I'll hate to have to say "fire' to my men. You deserve a creative death – not an ordinary one. And you too, Mr. McArty, or should I say Mr. Gordon – and bravo for your show, I enjoyed it immensely. A special agent of the Secret Services who's a ventriloquist, who would have guessed?"

Artie nodded. "I can sing pretty well too, but you know that already, don't you? You tried to kill me when I was playing the part of Leonora, in Fidelio."

Jim helped Artemus to sit on a chair and looked down at Miguelito Loveless. "So, you're the one who killed all those people and sank the ships."

Loveless shook his head and grimaced, looking offended. "Absolutely not. Pirates did that, not me. That's primitive! That's brutal! That's unaesthetic! It's not my style; you should know that by now. I have nothing to do with those deaths and those sunken showboats. I'm here for something else… for gold. One million dollars in gold precisely." And he rubbed his hands greedily. "And that gold will be mine."

Puzzled Jim frowned. "One million dollars in gold?"

Removing the blond wig and his phony mustache Artie said, "Yes, Jim, the gold that the Confederates hid in a showboat during the war – and the pirates are searching for that gold too. I did some research myself, talking to the crew."

Dr. Loveless nodded. "Yes, four showboats served to transport troops during the war, and there was a trunk filled with confederate gold hidden on one of them. But nobody knows which one. Two of them have been searched thoroughly, and then pillaged, and the passengers and crews killed and then the boats sank in the Mississippi River. The pirates didn't find anything. There are only two showboats left on the list, this one, the _River Queen_ and _the Miss Blue_. My men are actually searching every place on that boat. If the gold is here, they'll find it." He smiled and rubbed his chin pensively. "I now have to find a creative way to get rid of the two of you definitively, but before that I'd like to play with you. I love games."

Glaring at Loveless Artie stood. "Oh I'm sure that you will rapidly find something– you have such a vivid imagination. That's _not_ a compliment." He coughed.

Suddenly Artemus' knees buckled as he felt a wave of dizziness and nausea come over him. He gasped, clapping his hand over his mouth, as bile rose in the back of his throat, and, on his knees, he vomited his lunch on the floor. He retched until his churning stomach was empty, his throat burning and his eyes watering. He continued to dry heave as the nausea still rolled through him, letting out a concert of strangled sounds, groans, gasps and hoarse croaks.

He tried to stand but was too weak to. He managed somehow to struggle into a near-upright position, and leaned against the bulkhead, his energy drained. He moaned. "Oh boy! I'm as weak as a newborn kitten," he said, blinking groggily.

Jim grabbed Artie's arm, hauled him to his feet and helped him to sit down on the chair again. Then he gently rubbed his partner's back following his protective instinct.

Loveless frowned. "You look terrible, Mr. Gordon. You are sick as a dog. It looks like the influenza more than a bad cold. What are your symptoms?"

Artemus shot his Nemesis a black look, his face flooded with color, breathing deeply. "Why do you care? You're going to kill me anyway."

Loveless took a prudent step back. "As you are flushed and sweating, you probably have a high fever and, as your voice his hoarse, I think that you have a sore throat. You're moving like an old man, grimacing with pain, so you have muscles pains. You're coughing and you're obviously feeling tired as you can't keep standing, and you're nauseous and you just vomited. Here's my medical prognosis: you have influenza Mr. Gordon. It's very contagious. Your partner here was certainly contaminated by the virus too." He took another step backward. "As I don't want to be contaminated in my turn – because the virus spreads through air from coughs and sneezes, over relatively short distances, I'm going to let you live – well, I mean, I'm not going to kill you. But influenza will, or not. It's uncertain. I'm going to lock you in here, while I finish what I have to do. So it's either an _au revoir_ , or an _adieu_. I would prefer the _au revoir_ ; because it would give me the extreme pleasure of killing you myself, later."

Loveless took the key sitting in the lock, moved into the corridor, still framed by his goons, and closed the door behind him.

Moving like a very old man, his whole body sore, Artie reached the table where a bowl and a pitcher were both sitting. He poured water directly in his mouth from the pitcher holding it up to his mouth. He swished the liquid around his mouth, glad to get rid of the foul vomit flavor that remained in his mouth. Then he spit it out in the bowl and finally wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

He took a step backward and the room started to spin. "Oh boy!" He leaned heavily on a table, swaying on unsteady legs.

Jim took out a lockpick he kept hidden behind the lapel of his jacket. 'I'm going to open that door in a couple of seconds." His features pinched with concern he said, "I'm going to ask Captain Simpson to stop this showboat in the next port. You need to see a doctor Artie. I don't want you to die of complications. And you stay here, of course. You're not coming with me."

Nodding, Artie buried his pounding head in his trembling hands. "Yes, complications like pneumonia. I'm not going to let you do this alone Jim, it's too dangerous. Loveless and his goons are outside. They could kill you – fearing to be contaminated."

Pivoting to face his partner, Jim nodded. "Same thing for you buddy. You stay here; you can barely stand on your own two legs. No discussion."

Standing again Artie narrowed his eyes, staring at Jim mutinously. He waved a stern finger. "I don't take orders from you, Jim. You're not my commanding officer. I'm your partner, you… oooh!" He didn't finish his sentence and slowly slid to one side.

In a flash Jim caught the other man, just before he hit the floor, and gently lay him down at his feet. Then he took his jacket off, rolled it into a ball, and placed it under his partner's head. "I'll be prudent Artemus, don't worry," he said.

WWW

 _On the bridge of the River Queen_

Howard Simpson had his hands tied up to the helm when Jim West entered the bridge. Loveless was sitting in the captain's chair.

His shadows – namely the two goons were there too, armed of course.

Miguelito grinned. "You're so predictable, Mr. West. I knew that you would escape and come here to ask the captain to head for the next port. Tsk! Tsk!... and you left that poor Mr. Gordon alone. You shouldn't have. One of my men, Burke, who is immune to influenza – he's now carrying your partner to the upper deck, to starboard, precisely. Once there, he'll throw him in the River."

Blanching with dread, adrenaline coursing through him, Jim bolted out of the bridge, sprinting to the upper deck of the showboat. He went to starboard and… froze when he saw a giant held his partner above his head like he weighted nothing – before throwing him overboard.

He heard a loud splash and hurried toward the rail and spotted Artemus, his hands tied, lying on his back, trying to stay afloat.

He immediately stepped over the railing and dove into the water. He did the crawl as quickly as possible and reached his partner. He wrapped an arm around Artie's chest, placed his head on his shoulder and moved away from the oncoming towboat.

Shortly after, they found themselves alone in the middle of the cold and murky Mississippi – watching the showboat, and the vessel pulling her, going away.

Barely conscious Artie mumbled, "I'm sorry, Jim. I tried to defend myself… but I'm so weak…"

Jim maneuvered behind Artemus and slung his left arm over his partner's chest, using his hand to push up the other man's chin. Then he started to swim awkwardly toward the closest bank, doing his best to keep both their heads above the water. "It's going to be alright Artie. We'll soon be on firm ground."

They both reached the bank half an hour later.

Tbc.


	3. Act Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY SHOWBOAT**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT TWO**

 _Much later_

The night was cool and damp.

Sitting on the muddy ground, leaning against the base of a bald cypress, Jim wasn't cold but very hot, feeling warmth radiating from Artie's overheated body. He was cradling the older man in his arms, holding him tightly on his lap.

He was on guard because the swamps bordering the Mississippi River were infested with dangerous creatures like poisonous snakes and alligators.

Moaning, Artie stirred from his fevered sleep and opened his eyes, slowly, groggily. "So, that wasn't a dream," he said, glancing around him, his voice expressionless with fatigue.

Jim shook his head. "No, we're still stuck on that bank. It's night now. You slept for almost two hours, Artie." He felt for a pulse. He found it weak and rapid. He blanched with worry. Artie was very sick, he mused. "How are you feeling?"

Covered in sweat, shaken by chills, Artie mumbled, "I don't feel good." His head was pounding something fierce, and his body ached all over. "I won't make it, Jim." His voice was thick and nasal with his stuffy nose. He was gasping for breath. "I'm very ill. My fever is rising, and soon I'll have seizures and even brain damage – and then I'll probably die from acute pneumonia. I have all the symptoms Jim: high fever, shaking chills, shortness of breath, stabbing chest pain…" He coughed, deep chest rattling coughs and grimaced in pain, his hand placed on his painful chest. "Leave me here and carry on the mission."

Hearing that, Jim pressed Artie's frame against his own body. "Never. I'm not leaving you behind, Artie. Forget about it. I'm not leaving you. We're stuck together, partner."

Smiling Artie whispered, "Till death do us part – but without the marriage part." He smiled as more chills wracked his body. "I'm so-so c-cold. " He is hit by another coughing fit, this one lasting longer than the previous one. He curled in on himself and he winced. "I'm going to die, Jim."

He began stroking his partner's back in soothing circles. "No, you're not. You have found yourself in more dire situations buddy and you survived each time – and you will survive this one too. We'll leave at dawn and if I have to carry you over my shoulder, I will."

Smiling weakly Artie limply saluted. "Yes Sir." His vision was fuzzy and he closed his eyes. "M' sorry, you're going to be sick too, because of me…"

Jim shook his head. "Impossible, I never get sick."

Nesting against Jim, Artemus mumbled, "Thank you," he said, then his body went slack as he lapsed back into a hazy sleep.

Jim didn't sleep, keeping Artemus against him all night long, running a hand through Artie's sweaty hair feeling the other man's fever increase even more. He was burning up – almost literally. His concern grew too at the same time.

It was dawn when he saw a man – an old Indian, sitting in a canoe paddling in their direction. He raised his hand and waved it. "Help!"

WWW

 _Much later_

The next time Artemus Gordon opened his eyes, he found himself lying on a soft and comfy bed of black bear furs. He blinked twice and glanced around him. He was laid on a bed, inside a small window-less house made of plaster and rivercane walls with a thatched roof. He was obviously not on the bank of the Mississippi River anymore, but he was still chilled to the bone, he mused.

He finally saw an old Indian sitting on a stool at his bedside. He then noticed Jim standing behind the old man. He blinked twice, surprised. "Jim? What's happening?" he rasped.

He struggled up but the old man put a surprisingly strong hand square on the center of his chest, pushing him back down. "Stay down", he croaked.

Smiling, Jim moved to the edge of the bed. "Don't move Artie, we're safe here. Black Crow here found us at dawn, on his way fishing. He offered us hospitality. He's a Chickasaw and the Medicine Man of his band. There are about sixty Chickasaw here, in the village. They came back here, to their former territory, during the war. They live in peace on a large island in the middle of the bayous, away from people and away from trouble. They are friendly Indians. He's going to heal you Artie, with prayers and potions… You're going to be alright."

Unable to speak anymore, as his throat was hurting, Artemus simply nodded. He was exhausted. His head slumped to the side and his eyes closed.

Black Crow began to strip Artemus of his damp clothes.

Sleeping like a log he didn't react when the Indian poured herbal oil on his bare chest and then taped it with a bouquet of medicinal plants – while chanting prayers.

Black Crow finally removed Artie's short underwear, and once his 'patient' was completely naked, he plunged his hand into a large terracotta pot and began spreading a thick brown, stinking, ointment on the other man's reddened skin, covered with goose bumps. Front and back, from head to toe.

Jim wrinkled his nose. The smell was horrible.

Fascinated, he traced Artemus's Comanche tattoo placed on his lower back and said, "Osi', eagle."

Jim nodded. "Yes, it's a Comanche tattoo."

Then, the Chickasaw rolled Artie on his back. Chanting prayers and using his bouquet of medicinal plants the Medicine Man taped Artie's head, throat, chest (again), stomach and then his joints.

That done, the Medicine Man wrapped Artemus in a warm blanket, shook his shoulder to wake him and brought a bowl to his lips. "Drink! Little sips," he ordered.

Opening one bleary eye, Artie complied and regretted it already. He grimaced and let out a raspy "Gaaaah!" before gritting his teeth and clenching his jaws.

It smelled like vomit, tasted like vomit and the beverage was burning its way down to his stomach like a line of fire. He coughed and shivered. "Oh boy…" he croaked before clapping a heavy hand over his mouth, breathing rapidly with his nose, fighting the bile rising in his throat. Then, after a minute or so, when he was sure he wasn't going to retch, He whimpered, "I hate being sick."

Black crow brought another bowl of unnamable stinky and revolting potion and grunted, "Drink," before bringing it ito his patient's lips. "Little sips."

Hesitating first, because it smelled like sewage water, Artie finally opened his mouth. "Oh god! It's disgusting!" he let out; nasally, before a long coughing fit, causing his whole body to spasm. Then, as he had no choice, he swallowed the putrid and thick liquid.

He rolled on his side and curled up on himself as an intense heat propagated in an instant to his whole body. He gripped the blanket until his knuckles were white and he cried out. "Owwww!"

Frowning in worry Jim asked Black Crow, "Are you sure those potions are going to help him? Because he's in a lot of pain. They seem to do more harm than good."

Black Crow nodded. "The potions will heal his body and I will chase the bad spirits hovering over his body with my prayers." Then he re-started his chanting.

Crouching beside Artie, now panting and thrashing, and periodically coughing, Jim said, "It's going to be okay, Artemus. It's just a bad moment. It won't last." He placed his hand on Artie's head, who was gasping for breath like a fish out of water, still feeling like he was never drawing enough oxygen into his lungs, no matter how deeply he breathed. Jim could read panic in his brother's chocolate eyes, dulled with pain. "Don't panic. Slow breaths. Nice and easy," he said, his voice soft, pushing away the hair sticking to his clammy forehead.

Progressively Artie regained control of his breathing as the heat and the pain gradually vanished – replaced by a general bearable ache.

Artemus rolled onto his back, groaning. He closed his eyes and was falling asleep again when the old Indian brought another bowl of potion to his lips and said, "Drink. Little sips."

Looking at Black Crow through half-lidded eyes, He complied reluctantly and it was so disgusting that he sputtered the vile liquid in Black Crow's face. The Indian didn't mind and forced the white man to drink half of the potion. "Enough, please," Artie rasped, grimacing, tears flooding his face. "I want to sleep… "He gazed blearily at the ceiling, his eyes kept fading in and out of focus. "Slee-eep 'ow," he breathed, before closing his eyes. He muttered something unintelligible and he drifted off.

Black Crow nodded. "That was the last one. He will sleep now." He looked at Jim and added, "Come with me, you must be hungry." Seeing that Jim hesitated he said, "He's going to sleep for hours. The potions need to take effect."

Finally Jim nodded. "Alright."

WWW

 _Much later_

Five hours later, Artie was thrashing on his bed of furs, sweating profusely, blanket kicked around his ankles and still completely nude.

He was dreaming, speaking in his fevered sleep. It was at first unintelligible, just disconnected words, but then intelligible phrases slipped away from his lips.

Black Crow crouched beside his patient. "Evil spirits don't want to go. They…" he suddenly stopped mid-sentence as he recognized Artie's words and sentences. He looked up at Jim in surprise. "I recognize that language, it's Cheyenne language. I met Cheyenne people when I was exiled in Oklahoma with my band. But we managed to come back here, to our ancestral ground during the war. We hid there, in the bayous."

Jim nodded. "I promise not to tell anyone where you're hiding. Artemus will do the same." He knelt beside his partner, who was shaken with tiny spasms, and covered his middle with the blanket. "Artie and I we have a friend, American Knife. He's a Cheyenne, a medicine man like you. Artie visited him several times. You see, Artie loves knowledge, and he spent some time in American Knife's band learning the Cheyenne language, living like a Cheyenne." Fetching a bowl of water and a towel, he laid the wet cloth across his warm face gently. "What does he say?"

Black Crow was impressed and translated what Artie was mumbling. "He's telling the evil spirits that brought sickness to him to go away."

Suddenly Artie stopped talking in his sleep and he went slack. He opened his eyes a couple of seconds later, feeling groggy. "Oooooh…" He turned his head to the right and saw Black Crow and Jim crouched there. "Hi!" he said. "M' not dead?" he whispered very surprised to be still alive.

Black Crow was amazed. "It worked!"

Outside an eagle let out his call: kleek kik ik ik ik.At the same time, Artie's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he passed out.

WWW

 _Later_

Sitting on a nest of blankets and furs, dressed in his now dry clothes, Artie gratefully took the bowl of water Jim was handing him. "Thank you, I'm thirsty." He touched his forehead. No fever. "If Black Crow hadn't healed me, I'd be dead by now. I owe him a huge debt of gratitude." Then he took a sip of fresh water and let out a moan of pleasure. "That's so good!"

Smiling, Jim sat cross-legged on the floor in front of his partner. "I told you that you would survive. How are you feeling this morning?"

The older man took another sip of water. "Alive. Achy-all-over, like the 7th Cavalry had galloped over me, twice. I'm all sticky and…" He sniffed at one hand then at the other and wrinkled his nose. "And smelly – Ugh! Oh! And I'm very hungry, too. I could eat a horse!"

Jim chuckled. "Then you're fine, it's official. A hungry Artie is a healthy Artie."

The flap which served as a door opened and Black Crow entered followed by another Chickasaw, younger, taller, and stronger. His upper body was tattooed with geometrical patterns. He was wearing a breechcloth and moccasins and his head was shaved except for a single scalp lock.

Black Crow said, "This is Red Fox, our Chief. He came here to see the white man who Speaks Cheyenne with an eagle tattooed on his back. The man who chased the evil spirits. He's very curious."

Blinking in surprise Artie looked at Jim. "I spoke Cheyenne? When?"

Jim nodded. "You were dreaming, had a fever… You apparently chased away the evil spirits that had brought sickness on you."

Slowly, painfully, Artie stood and swayed on unsteady legs for a few seconds. He raised his chin proudly as Red Fox moved toward him. The Chief was a warrior and he only respected strong people, he mused. He lifted his hand, palm open and in Cheyenne said, "Pévevóona'o, good morning."

Red Fox lifted his hand, palm open too. "Chokma", he said in his own language.

Black Crow translated, "Greeting."

Red Fox placed a hand on Artie's shoulder, pressing it and said, "It's a great honor to meet you, Osi'. Osi' means eagle in my language."

Puzzled Artie frowned. "You call me Osi'? Eagle? Why?"

The Chief raised his hand toward the ceiling of the hut. "You chased away the evil spirits as the same time an eagle circled above the hut. That's why I call you Osi'."

Artie smiled. "Wherever I will go an eagle will protect me…" He said. "One day, an eagle marked me when I was prison… when I was with Comanche. I have scars he left with his talons in my back. It opened its broad wings above me, signaling that it was protecting me – and that wherever I go, now that I'm marked, all the eagles will protect me. Then I was given a Comanche tattoo representing an eagle. It's linked to religious beliefs. It's a mark of distinction and honor too."

The Chief was impressed. "In many tribes Eagles are highly revered and particularly associated with warriors and courage in battle. You are blessed to have such a powerful animal protector – and that tattoo on your back indicates that you are a brave warrior." He smiled and added, "My mother gave me my name Chola, Red Fox, when a fox entered the hut after I was born." He placed a second hand on Artie's free shoulder. "You're a strong man, Osi'. No other man has done what you did before. Only medicine men chase evil spirits away. Maybe you were one, in another existence, Osi'."

Smiling broadly, Artie nodded. "Maybe, who knows? He placed both his hands on the Chickasaw Chief. "Néá'eše, thank you."

Bowing with respect, the two men nodded and parted. Artie spoke first. "We have to leave now. Jim and I have an important mission to accomplish."

Chola nodded. "I will give you a canoe and paddles and show you the way to leave the bayou. You should reach the nearest city by mid-afternoon. But don't tell anyone about our secret place."

Raising his hand again Artie said, "We promise."

Red Fox nodded. "I believe you."

Tbc.


	4. Act Three

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY SHOWBOAT**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

 _New Orleans, evening_

 _The Wanderer_

Smiling, Jim knocked at the door of the bathroom. "You alright Artie? You're not drowned, aren't you? It's been one hour now that you've been in the bathtub." He heard water flowing but there was no answer. "You already took a bath at the hotel this morning when I was sending a telegram to the sheriff of Baton Rouge, asking him to contact the fireman and the driver of the Wanderer. The train arrived here just in time for dinner. Dinner is not ready by the way…"

On the other side of the door Artie finished rinsing his hair for a third time and re-started cleaning his arms for a third time too with a cloth and a piece of sandalwood soap. "I'm still alive, don't worry. I needed another bath to definitely get rid of all that ointment Black Crow put on me. It was so thick and greasy that I had to clean myself twice again, entirely. That stuff was awful – but very efficient, I must admit. The stench was awful too, it was like I had taken a bath in a sewage system. One bath wasn't enough for that – and I can't be in the bathroom and in the galley at the same time, Jim. I'm sure that you can prepare a decent omelet – it's not difficult, you just need a frying pan and eggs. And if you're feeling _téméraire_ , put some fried onions in it."

In the corridor Jim chuckled. "That stuff healed you Artie, along with all those potions Black Crow made you swallow. They were disgusting too – but really efficient as well."

On the other side of the door Artemus used a pitcher to pour water on his head. "Yes, it was. Did you send a telegram to Colonel Richmond?"

In the narrow walkway Jim nodded. "Yes, I did. I told him what happened, but I said nothing about the Chickasaw, like we promised. Instead I told him that we had found refuge in an old man's house and that he had used old remedies to heal you. I told him that he had given us a spare canoe and paddles and that we had reached Memphis close to midnight."

On the other side of the door Artie poured some homemade herbal shampoo on his head and started massaging his scalp. "Was the _River Queen_ intercepted?"

In the corridor Jim leaned against the bulkhead. "Yes, but unfortunately Loveless was long gone. All the passengers and crew are safe. I told Richmond that the confederate gold is probably on the _Blue Queen_ – and the showboat is mooring in the port of New Orleans. Policemen are guarding it. I was thinking that we could go there tonight… or in the morning, after you finish cleaning yourself shiny."

On the other side of the door Artie burst out laughing. "Okay, give me ten minutes… more like thirty minutes, my hair still smells like sewage, and I'll join you in the parlor car."

WWW

 _Later, in the parlor car_

His hair still wet – and shiny with perfumed violet oil– and dressed in a brown suit with a golden waistcoat Artie joined his partner sitting at the table. Jim had laid the table and had a large plate with a nice big omelet with fried onions sitting in front of him.

Impressed, Artie smiled. "James-my-boy, there's still hope for you… "

The omelet was rapidly shared and eaten and the two men headed back to their sleeping compartments to retrieve guns and gadgets.

Back in the parlor, gun belt buckled, Artemus said, "I brought extra-gadgets in addition to those that we usually use , like the malleable explosive and fuses hidden in the collar of your jacket and the picklock hidden behind your lapel." He placed the box he was holding on the table and, smiling proudly, he pulled out three golden balls, each provided with a pin. "I brought a few examples of my new explosive device – the one that explodes when in contact with water." He placed them in Jim's hands. "Remove the pin, throw one of these tiny bombs underwater so that water penetrates inside – just a drop suffices, and boom!" He grinned. "It works perfectly."

Jim pocketed the tiny bombs. "I know that, you tested three of them in the river from the rear platform of the Wanderer when we were heading here. You killed tons of fish."

Artie chuckled. "You're exaggerating, maybe a dozen of them, that's all. And we stopped to collect them. I prepared some fillets and put them in the salt. Oh! And I brought my new artificial lung. I put 10 minutes of air in the reservoir and I added straps to keep it in place. They could be handy as we are going on a boat; no one knows what could happen."

Jim chuckled. "Then, we're ready."

The two men headed toward the door. The younger agent opened the door and suddenly found himself face to face with the mouth of a revolver – held by one of Loveless' henchmen, he immediately recognized. It was the man who had thrown Artie in the River.

Loveless appeared on the rear platform of the train, holding a gun too and pointing it at Artemus. "Goodnight, gentlemen."

Both Jim and Artie moved back, hands up.

Loveless entered the parlor car and looked around him, nodding in appreciation. "President Grant must be quite fond of you to let you use such a beautiful,luxury train." He sat on a golden- upholstered couch, still aiming his gun at the older agent. "I was in the vicinity when I saw light in your train and I came to say hello. You don't seem to be happy to see me again."

Glaring at the diminutive man Artie said, "Probably because we're not."

Miguelito Loveless grimaced. "I'm wounded, Mr. Gordon." Then he smiled, "I was sure that the two of you would survive, James West and Artemus Gordon can't die by drowning, it's such a common death. You deserve the best, and I have a few ideas…"

Looking falsely uninterested, Jim asked, "What do you want?"

Suddenly irritated, Loveless frowned and hit the cushions on the couch with his fist. "I didn't find any gold on the _River Queen_ , I wasted my precious time!" He abruptly calmed down and added, "But I'm sure now that it's on the _Miss Blue_ and I need your help to go on board with my men. It would seem that the police are guarding the pier where the showboat is moored… "

Jim nodded. "And if don't want to?"

Loveless gave West a crocodile smile and fired. Artie let out a yelp immediately when a dart hit him square in his chest.

Artemus immediately removed it but it was too late, whatever liquid had filled the dart, it was now running in his veins.

The diminutive man said, "That dart contained a slow lethal poison. Help me to go there, and I'll give you the antidote."

Jim nodded. "Alright."

WWW

 _New Orleans port, later_

 _Showboat Miss Blue_

Loveless observed Jim West talking to the policemen from the inside of his carriage. He smiled broadly when the armed men left the pier.

Once they were gone, he left his vehicle, framed by his two bulky henchmen – and followed by Artemus Gordon. Six goons left a second carriage and joined them.

Moving toward Loveless, Jim said, "I told them that they didn't need to stay here. That Artie and I will be on guard on board the showboat tonight." He halted beside his (and Artie's) Nemesis and reached out his hand, palm opened. "Give me the antidote, now."

Miguelito Loveless shook his head. "Not yet Mr. West. I can't let Mr. Gordon and you go free to, not before I have found the gold. I don't want to end up in a cell, you understand." He glanced at Artemus who was scowling at him and added, "Don't worry, it's a slow poison, you should feel the first symptoms in a couple of hours: fever, chills, shortness of-breath… I should have found the million dollars in gold before that." He pointed at the ship. "Let's go on board. Chop! Chop!"

Once on the lower deck the diminutive man ordered, "Burke, Davis, Jones, escort Mr. West and Mr. Gordon to the cargo hold and lock them in there, separately."

Immediately the two secret agents raised their hands… and exchanged a knowing look. They still had all their gadgets on them. Loveless, in his haste to find the gold, had completely forgotten to deprive them of them, they both mused.

Once in the cargo hold, following a sudden intuition telling him to do it (he always followed his intuition), Artie surreptitiously gave Jim his artificial lung, mouthing 'take it', to Jim who looked at him in surprise. Then, Jim pocketed it discreetly. Artie had his reasons.

Burke pushed Artemus into an empty storage room to starboard. Then he locked the heavy wooden door, closing it using the thick, solid latch.

Burke pushed Jim into an empty storage room too, on the other side of the hold, to port. "There, be good boys," he said before heading back toward the stairs.

Davis and Jones giggled.

WWW

 _Later_

Using a malleable explosive and a fuse hidden in the lapel of the collar of his jacket, Jim West quickly got rid of the door of his improvised cell. He had just left the room when a series of gunshots resounded, coming from the upper deck. "What's the hell…?"

Then a series of huge explosions resounded on the showboat. Immediately the ship toppled to starboard, almost capsizing.

The agent lost his balance and hit the floor, hard.

Bullets were fired again, a lot.

Suddenly another explosion shook the showboat and a good part of the hold was suddenly engulfed in flames – coming from the lower deck, and they immediately started devouring the stairs.

Letting himself slide toward the door of the storage room where Artie was locked in, Jim was abruptly stopped half-way there, as a large breach opened in the hull and thousands of liters of freezing black water poured inside the cargo hold.

He was swept away by a huge wave.

The water level rose very quickly as the showboat began slowly sinking and Jim found himself quickly half-submerged.

Flames were now running along the ceiling of the cargo hold – spreading at top speed.

There was another explosion – less violent than the first ones – and Artemus Gordon appeared, swimming through the debris of the door he had just blown out, coming out from the storage room he had been prisoner in a few seconds ago. "Jim!"

Jim lifted his hand. "I'm here, Artie! I'm here!"

The two men met and Artie said, "We have to leave this place before the showboat hits the bottom of the Mississippi River!"

They swam together toward the hull. Once there, Jim fished the two mini bombs that exploded in contact with water in his jacket pocket and gave one to his best friend. They unpinned a mini-bomb each and threw it there and sank underwater, taking cover to protect themselves.

There were two simultaneous explosions and a large breach opened up in the hull. More icy water instantly poured inside the hold and the two men were almost completely submerged.

The two men found themselves swimming dangerously close to the flames eating away the lower deck. They could feel the heat burn their faces.

Pointing downward, Jim said, "Let's get out of here!" and he dived.

Suddenly a beam coming from the lower deck broke in two parts and one half fell on Artemus, trapping him underwater, breaking his left leg in the process.

Outside, Jim surfaced in the port, and he immediately looked around him. It was dark but the whole place was lit by the burning showboat. "Artie? Artie?" he called out and didn't receive any answer. He waited. But Artemus didn't surface.

Panic gripped his heart.

Underwater, holding his breath, Artie tried to free himself from the beam trapping his left leg and pinning him to the floor of the cargo hold. In vain.

He grimaced as white-hot-pain stabbed his left leg. It was probably broken, he realized. He tried to move, to free himself, but the pain increased.

His vision grayed and he swallowed water.

He knew he was going to die and wasn't afraid of death, it was part of the job and he had accepted it a long time ago, after he joined the Army – serving at Grant's side. But drowning wasn't his favorite way to die. He would have preferred a bullet in the heart. It was painless and instantaneous. Jim was safe, that was all that counted. He finished his musing there.

The cold sank into his muscles and dark spots danced in front of his eyes. The end was near. 'I'm sorry Jim,' he thought.

He wouldn't be able to hold his breath much longer.

Tbc.


	5. Act Four

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY SHOWBOAT**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

Diving into the cold, numbing winter water, Jim swam at top speed; his heart started hammering in fear. He found the breach by which he had left the cargo hold – as it was still lit by the flames running on the lower deck and went inside the sinking showboat.

He went through the large hole in the hull and spotted Artemus's silhouette. He was lying on his back on the bottom of the cargo hold, his left leg trapped under a beam.

He swam toward him, dreading to find his partner drowned. But he was relieved to see that the other man was still alive and holding his breath.

He suddenly remembered Artie giving him his artificial lung – following one of his famous intuitions, without knowing what would happen.

He pulled it out from his pocket and took a breath before placing the mask on partner's face. He repeated the operation for ten minutes while trying to free his partner from the beam firmly pining him – but eventually the air contained in the reservoir ran out.

Grabbing Jim's wrist, Artie pointed to the breach, signalling him to leave. Jim shook his head. Artemus placed a brotherly hand on the other man's cheek and shook his head again, and Jim could read 'it's too late for me, leave, save your life," in his best friend's eyes. Overwhelmed by intense pain and far too weak to stay conscious any longer, Artemus Gordon closed his eyes.

He was deeply unconscious when he both inhaled and swallowed the murky liquid. His body jerked involuntarily, thrashing, he struggled to breathe but his movements slowed down and the last bubbles of air slipped out of his lips.

He stilled and his slackened body began to float.

His throat burning, his chest constricted, Jim held his breath. He didn't panic. 'You have to save Artie! Nothing is lost! You can revive Artie with the Cardiopulmonary resuscitation technique, Artie had taught you, but first you have to free him before doing that and there is no time to lose'... He thought, trying to stay calm.

He removed the now useless artificial lung from his face, slid his hand inside his drowned partner's jacket; searched the pockets, and found the third and last golden sphere with a pin. Pulling out the fuses he kept in his collar, he quickly tied them together – making a one meter long fuse – and attached one extremity to the pin of the mini-bomb. Then he slid the explosive device under the beam, moved away prudently and pulled – the mini bomb immediately exploded, breaking the beam in a dozen pieces.

Immediately after, Jim curled his fingers into the fabric of Artie's jacket and swam back toward the large hole in the hull.

His lungs crying out for air, ready to burst from the pressure, Jim gritted his teeth as he dragged them both up to the surface. He surged upward and surfaced shortly after. Bursting into the air, he gasped, sucking in deep gulps of oxygen.

But he was the only one breathing, he suddenly recalled with dread. Keeping his arm tighter around Artie's lifeless body, he swam as fast as possible toward the gently sloping bank – hoping that it wasn't too late to save his partner, panic rising.

Once on dry land, he laid Artie's body, lifeless, cold and limp, down on the ground, then kneeling beside his drowned partner, he opened Artemus's mouth, tilted his head back, pinched his nose shut and placed his lips to those of the unconscious man. He started breathing for him, blowing air into him, anxiously watching for the rise of Artie's chest as his lungs expanded.

But there was no movement.

Jim repeated the motion a few times, drawing as much air into his own lungs as he could – but Artie wasn't breathing by his own, still. He remained motionless, his face slack and livid and his lips blue. "No, no, no!" he said through chattering teeth. "Don't do this to me! Don't die on me buddy! I can't do this alone, I need you." He pinched Artie's nose breathed into his mouth again. "Come on!"

He placed one hand over the other above his partner's sternum, interlocking his fingers, before beginning chest compressions, hard. He heard a crack but continued.

One, two, three.

He leaned back down, squashing Artie's nose shut before giving him another breath of air.

He lost track of how many times he pumped his hands against Artie' ribcage and the number of breaths he gave him, but didn't stop.

He couldn't stop. He couldn't lose the man he loved like his own brother.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity Artemus jerked and shuddered. He coughed his way to life, thrashing, his chest rising and falling with each painful, ragged breath, spluttering and vomiting water.

Jim rolled him on his side and slapped Artie's back hard as more water rushed out of his mouth. "Yes, that's it buddy! Breathe, breathe, you're safe now."

His chest heaving, Artemus opened his eyes, glazed and red and puffy and he mumbled, his throat burning, "M' cold, m' so cold and numb. Can't feel anything…"

Jim nodded. "It's probably better that way."

Artie blinked twice in confusion. "Wha-what happened? I should be dead…"

Overjoyed Jim leaned over his partner, beaming. He'd brought Artie back. Artie was alive. "You were dead for a few minutes but I brought you back to life Artie. I did it! I performed the Cardiopulmonary resuscitation technique on you and…" He cringed and added. "And I broke your ribs performing chest compressions. I'm really sorry. That beam broke your left leg; try not to move, okay?"

His whole body shivering Artie coughed up the rest of the water and rolled on his back distantly thinking that it was a good thing that his body was so numb and so cold. He couldn't feel any pain – especially the pain coming from his broken leg.

His eyes sunken and tired, his teeth chattering, Artemus let out, "It's 'kay… thank you Jim, s'ved my life. " He slurred and went limp afterward, passed out.

Tears of profound joy running down his own face Jim touched Artemus's throat, finding a pulse there. He was never happier. Then, grinning, he collapsed in relief, out of breath himself. He reached out, dragging Artie into his arms, watching as the showboat sank and the boats of the pirates moved away into the night. "You're going to be okay Artie."

He suddenly remembered that Artie had been poisoned and blanched. He stood, said, "Stay here buddy, I have to find Loveless."

But it was Loveless who found him.

Miguelito Loveless was standing at the top of the bank, arms crossed on his chest, smiling and of course escorted by four of his goons. "I'm here, don't bother. Bravo Mr. West, bravo. I didn't know that technique for bringing people back to life. It works. And the ability you have, your partner and you, to survive the most terrible ordeals continues to astound me. But, all things must come to an end… And I'll be there to be sure it happens. You'll die, by my hand, both of you. Mr. Burke?"

The giant took a step forward. "Move!" He ordered.

Kneeling, Jim slipped his arms under Artie's knees and back and lifted him up as he stood. Framed by the goons, holding Artie against him, he headed toward Loveless' carriage.

WWW

 _Much later in a warehouse_

Dr. Miguelito Loveless, perched on a wooden box, looked down at Artemus Gordon, sprawled on a table, still passed out, and shivering, his clothes dripping.

He snapped his fingers. "Knife!" he commanded.

Burke the giant behemoth instantly pulled out a knife from his back and handed it to his boss. Loveless used it to cut Artemus's plastered shirt open.

He placed his ear against the Gordon's heart, listening. "Mmm, everything seems alright here." He commented. He noticed the bruises on Artie's chest. "Mr. Gordon has broken ribs. You broke them when you did those chest compressions, Mr. West, but they will heal nicely." Then he snapped his fingers again and a goon pushed his 'seat' toward Artie's left leg. He cut the left part off his soaked pants, opening it up, revealing a swollen and bruised leg. He examined it thoroughly and said, "It's a break of the shinbone. It's a minor fracture, not a severe one, otherwise the leg would be an odd shape and the bone would even be poking out of the skin. But it's going to be very painful though. He'll need a plaster cast. "He pivoted and looked at James West sat on a chair and solidly tied to it.

Two men were standing beside him, keeping an eye on him, ready to shoot him.

Loveless jumped to the floor and headed toward the younger agent. He stopped in front of him and said, "Mr. Gordon should walk normally in six to eight weeks at most. He'll need plenty of rest – and patience, but it's not your partner's forte, as I recall." He smiled, seeing that the other man was very surprised. "Yes, yes, yes, I'm not going to kill you – not now - I mean, because, of course it's still my intention. The two of you are thorns in my side. Do you know why I spare you, for now?"

Lifting his eyebrows, very surprised, Jim shook his head. "No, why?"

Miguelito Loveless came back beside Artie – still unconscious – climbed on the wooden box again, and pulled a small case from his pocket. He opened it and pulled out a filled syringe. He pressed the tip in the other man's neck and administrated him the antidote to the slow poison running in his veins. "There, I gave him the antidote, he's going to live," he said, placing the empty syringe and case on a box. "He's safe." Moving back toward Jim he continued, "Because I want you in tip top shape to have the pleasure of killing you in a creative way – and to have the pleasure of playing with you beforehand, like a cat with a mouse. A hunter finds no interest in pursuing a weak animal, it's spoilsport." Loveless smiled. "Then, be seeing you, Mr. West, Take good care of your injured friend there. I'm sure that you'll find a way to free yourself."

Jim nodded again. "Before you leave, I'd like to ask you what happened on the showboat. Artie and I were pretty busy in the submerged cargo hold."

Loveless made a face. "The pirates attacked us. When they saw that my men resisted and had killed a dozen of them already, they used dynamite. I lost four men and the showboat was heavily damaged. The imbeciles! Wanting to kill us all they have so damaged the ship that it sank. The gold was on board, and now it's on the bottom of the Mississippi River. That gold is lost, definitively."

Hiding a smile Jim looked falsely sorry. "I'm sooo sorry… But I'm sure that you will find another occupation soon, Doctor."

Loveless nodded. "I always have something to do, Mr. West. Be seeing you." Then he headed toward the door of the warehouse, his goons in tow.

Rotating his right wrist, Jim activated the mechanism hidden in his sleeve and a knife slid automatically into his hand. He used it to rapidly cut the ropes binding him and was at Artie's side in a couple of seconds. He took the other man's pulse: a bit elevated but within normal bounds. He touched his forehead then and found that he was running a fever again. "Okay Artie, this time I'm going to bring you to a nice hospital, and with luck, you'll have lovely nurses to take care of you."

WWW

 _The next morning_

 _New Orleans general hospital_

Opening the door of his partner's room, Jim froze on the spot, grinning. Two lovely nurses were sitting on the edge of Artemus Gordon's bed, and his partner was lying on top of the blanket, in his hospital pajamas. His left leg was encased in a plaster, save his foot, and elevated on three fluffy pillows.

The blond-haired one was massaging Artie's non-injured leg, from the ankle to the knee while the brunette one, was massaging his scalp and stroking him behind his ears.

His eyes closed in bliss, totally relaxed, petted like an oversized cat; Artie was letting out something resembling a purr.

Moving closer to the bed, Jim said, "I'm sorry ladies, but I need to speak to my pampered partner here, alone. Come back later, he'll still be here, I promise."

Smiling, the two nurses each gave Artie a kiss on the cheek, and left the room.

Artie shot a broad smile at his partner. "Hiya Jim. First things first, thank you very much. You saved my life, once again. I just woke up two hours ago and you weren't there."

Jim nodded and sat on a chair. He smiled. "Two hours ago? And you already have two lovely nurses all wrapped around you?"

Artie chuckled and touched his aching ribs, wincing. "Yes, no woman can resist my natural charm. So… did something happen?"

Jim shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, I wanted to be here, but I was detained first in the Wanderer sending a telegram to Colonel Richmond – I sent him an abridged report – then I was detained at the police station giving the Chief a full report this time." He lightly patted the white cast, covering Artie's left leg up to a little below the knee. Then he took Artie's hand in his and they interlaced their fingers. "I'm so happy you're here, breathing, alive… I watched you die Artie, and it was awful…" He paused, chasing the image of Artie, eyes closed, mouth opened, floating, dead, from his mind. "But I didn't lost hope of saving you. I was sure I could do it with the cardiopulmonary resuscitation technique. By the way it was a very good idea to have taught me that." Sitting on the edge of the bed he continued, "And it worked. But that was close this time, buddy, far too close for comfort. You were very lucky, Artie."

The older man nodded his face grave. "It was more than close actually, because I was dead, I drowned. I don't remember anything of my brief stay in the afterlife… only a black emptiness. You brought me back using cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Yes, I had a very good idea the day that I taught you that new technique of bringing people back to life. And luck has nothing to do with all that, Jim. You – and only you – saved my life, Jim. I owe you my life, once again." He cupped the back of Jim's head and pulled him in, touching their foreheads together. "Thank you again, brother." He pulled back a few seconds later and moved his hand to the other man's shoulder, pressing it warmly.

Overwhelmed by emotion, tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Pressing Artie's shoulder in return, his eyes wet, Jim said, "Don't you ever ask me to leave you behind again, Artie. I'm not going to do it. That's final. He pulled Artie into an embrace and held him there. "If I have to make the choice between dying with you and living without you, I'll stay at your side, till the end, always, and without hesitation. So don't you ever tell me to leave you, because I can't and I won't. I will never leave you Artemus Gordon. Not ever." He parted and added, "No matter what. Do you understand?"

New tears rolled streamed down Artemus's cheeks. "Yes I do." This time it was Artie's turn to pull Jim into an embrace. "Thank you."

Parting from the other man, Jim smiled. "And if I have to, I will keep saying it until it finally penetrates that god-damned thick skull of yours!"

Artie laughed softly and immediately grimaced with pain. "Ow! Ow!" He wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hand. "You know… I don't know what happened after I lost consciousness on that bank, could you fill me in please?"

Jim nodded. "Loveless brought me – and you to a warehouse close to the port. He administrated you the antidote, said 'be seeing you' and left. He didn't kill us because we weren't in tip top shape and he couldn't play with us first, like a cat with a mouse. But next time, he will. Then I brought you here to the hospital."

Pulling himself into a sitting position, Artie asked. "What happened on the showboat?" and grimaced when Jim placed a pillow beneath his injured leg. "Thanks. The doctor gave me strong drugs for the pain but the effects have started to wear off."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jim said, "Dr. Loveless and the pirates wanted the same thing: the confederate gold. The pirates used dynamite to get rid of Loveless men but they didn't realize that it would cause havoc. The boat sank to the bottom of the Mississippi and the gold is lost. After that fiasco, Loveless escaped and the pirates disappeared."

Pouring himself a glass of water, Artie nodded, and then he looked at his glass and then at the carafe sat on the bedside table, lost in his thoughts. He finally came back down on Earth a couple of minutes later and asked his partner, "If you had some water to hide Jim, let's say the content of a glass of water, where would you hide it? The only safe place?"

Smiling Jim took the half-empty carafe. "In water. Why?"

Tbc.


	6. Tag

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY SHOWBOAT**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **TAG**

 _Two days later, on board the River Queen_

 _Port of New Orleans_

Captain Simpson dropped a trunk at Artie's feet and said, "You left something on board the last time you were here Mr. McArty – I mean Mr. Gordon."

Smiling Artemus recognized his trunk and knew what was inside: Chester. As he could barely move, Jim opened the trunk for him. He pulled out the marionette and showed it to his partner, who was keeping himself upright thanks to a pair of crutches. "He's fine."

Happy to have Chester back, Artie slid his hand inside the marionette's fabric body and said, "Hiya Chester. How are you buddy?"

Chester opened his mouth and said, "Hiya Artie, I missed you. I was kind of scared you know, alone in the dark, in that box. I thought that you had abandoned me."

Shaking his head Artemus said, "Never. I was busy you know Chester… I even died, for a moment. But I'm back, and you're back with me."

Howard Simpson applauded. "You're formidable, Mr. Gordon," he said." He frowned puzzled. "Now could you tell me why you wanted me to be here?"

Looking around him – at the vast auditorium – the older agent said, "It's a beautiful auditorium, with red velvet covered chairs, a red and gold curtain, very nice woodwork everywhere, a big staircase with gold railing… and lots of decoration on the front of the stage and on its sides: golden theater masks, golden musical instruments, golden notes, etc." He glanced at Jim. "James-my-boy, could you take your pocket knife and scratch one of those decorations please, something tells me they are not plaster-covered gold paint…"

Simpson frowned. "What?"

Using his pocket knife Jim scratched a theater mask decorating the front part of the stage and said, "You're tight, it's not paint – but gold, solid gold."

Looking at Simpson Artemus said, "The Confederate gold is on board your ship, Captain. But not in the form of coins or bars… but astutely hidden in the decoration of the auditorium – and maybe in the railings too. Those who did all that very clever _astuce_ never came back to retrieve their gold – they were probably killed during the war and took that secret with them to their graves. Only the knowledge that Confederate gold was transported on a Memphis showboat during the war remained."

Jim chuckled and then he applauded. "Bravo Artie! You knew that when you asked me where I would hide the content of a glass of water…"

Artie smiled. "Yes, but I had to prove it… now it's done."

Simpson looked around him amazed. "All the decoration and the railing are solid gold? But-but what's going to happen now?"

Chester intervened (Jim raising his hand), "The decoration will be removed and transported to Washington to end in the vault of the Treasury Department and the former decoration will be replaced by new gold-painted plaster decorations."

Simpson shook his head, still amazed. "All that gold… so close, hidden in plain sight…"

WWW

 _Later, in the Wanderer_

Holding a piece of paper, Jim joined Artemus at the table. "We have just received greetings from the President and his congratulations."

Holding Chester on his knees Artie nodded. "Yes, I know. I translated the message in my head, Jim. The president added a post-scriptum."

Chester looked up at his master. "Yes, he wants you to go to the Washington Military Hospital as soon as possible for a medical evaluation. That means a further hospitalization and… that you're going to see Elizabeth, Mary, Violet and Denise, those lovely nurses…"

Placing his hand on Chester's mouth Artie said, "Enough. It's time to say goodnight Chester."

Chester nodded. "Goodnight Artie, goodnight Jim."

Jim let out a short laugh. " Ah! Artie, you're priceless!"

The end


End file.
